Resurgence
by atomicnerfball
Summary: The galactic community begins the rebuilding process after the Reaper War, as does Commander James R. Shepard. Will there be peace in his time, or is he doomed to endlessly fight?
1. Picking up the Pieces

Chapter 1: Picking Up the Pieces

"No."

Her response was strong. Resolute. As inflexible as the cold steel nameplate she held in her three-fingered hands.

Garrus Vakarian sighed as he placed a hand on Tali's shoulder. The poor girl had been inconsolable over the past few days, since Shepard had ordered them to evacuate and had led the final push to the Citadel beam. The crazy bastard had pulled it off, and had given his life in the process. For better or worse, the crew had made it out of harm's way. They were blind, deaf, and stranded on some spirits-forsaken jungle in the middle of...well, somewhere, but they were alive and save for some burns, scrapes, and a few broken bones they were relatively safe.

Well, almost all of them.

EDI's blue box had imploded just before the Normandy had made its crash landing, and her body had lifelessly fallen from her co-pilot's seat upon impact. Same for the handful of geth platforms that happened to be on board. Two of the human crewmen had died upon impact, and a third had taken her own life upon seeing the damage to the frigate.

It had been Kaiden's idea to gather at the memorial wall to pay tribute to their fallen allies. Some of the maintenance techs had crafted the nameplates and had added them to the wall. However, they had agreed that Tali'Zorah should be the one to honor the dashing young commander who had stolen her heart. Kaiden and Garrus had hoped this would help her move forward; it might not ease her grief, but maybe it would allow her to function. They would undoubtedly need her in the days to come.

Now, it seemed that she was unable or unwilling to let go of James Shepard, or even his memorial name plate.

"He's gone, Tali," the battle-scarred turian whispered. His hand remained on her shoulder, gently squeezing it in a show of affection. "We have to let him go."

"No." Her voice was little more than a whisper, but a whisper with enough force and conviction to show that she had no intention of changing her mind.

Garrus sighed in resignation as he shot a glance at the asari standing at Tali's back. The galaxy's infamous Shadow Broker had grown close to the quarian. Garrus's look said it all. _ "Cover me?"_ he pled in silence.

"Tali," Liara said, her voice filled with both grief and compassion. "You have to do this. For all of us. For James. For yourself, most of all."

"I can't," Tali said. She chewed on her words for a moment, and decided that wasn't good enough. "I _won't_. Not yet. Not until I know for sure."

Liara hung her head and sighed. "Tali, he..."

"Don't say it," Tali interrupted. "I'll hang it up and wish him peace when we get back and find...find what happened. But not before. Not yet."

Liara felt her heart break for her dear friend; however, she couldn't help but feel irritated by Tali's petulance. Tali seemed to pick up on this, and she turned to face the asari.

"I love you Liara," she said. "And you, Garrus. And all of you. I am so grateful to have you here with me." She turned back to face the cold, steel wall and clutched the Commander's nameplate to her breast. "But I can't let go of this, not yet. I have nothing else to hold on to."

Artonis Kapec wanted to finish what the Reapers had started and blow the damned station into oblivion. He'd been stuck up in the Citadel (or, to be more specific, what was left of the Citadel) for almost two solid weeks as it made its orbit around the human homeworld. Artonis wished he was back on Earth; there was too much work to be done on the surface for both the Alliance and for his own people, and to be honest he found himself becoming a little partial to the planet. Sure, it was in mostly ruins and he couldn't eat...well, anything native, but he loved the English rains and the lovely (and mostly unspoiled) countryside outside of the city. However, the united races had selected an_ ad hoc_ Council, and for continuity's sake they had decided they would hold session in the reclaimed Citadel as soon as soon as possible.

So, in the name of galactic stabilization and similar political bullshit, the Council had sent some of their finest civil engineers to oversee the reconstruction, an plenty of military muscle to do the work.

The turian rubbed his eyes. He had been stuck with the latter group.

More accurately, he was leading what Command called a "R3" platoon-Recovery, Rescue, and Response. Or, as the R3 teams called themselves, the "Corpse Corps." It had been two weeks since the cessation of hostilities (a nice way to say, "Shepard blew the big bad bogeymen out of the goddamned sky") and by the looks of the devastation around him, they wouldn't be finding survivors any time soon. So, the Corpse Corps went to work, salvaging the bodies that were decent enough for burial, and burning those that weren't. It was morbid work. Especially when you found the half-dissolved ones. And, by the spirits, the stench. Artonis was a battle-forged veteran of the Primarch's army; he and Death were old, familiar friends. But this...this was something entirely different.

One could imagine the surprise he felt when one of his squads radioed him from the Citadel Tower garden. They were requesting a medic and a transport. He listened in as he made his way through the winding tunnels and darkened corners of what was once the Presidium. "Son-of-a-bitch must be a hell of a fighter," he thought. Still, he wasn't completely convinced his boys weren't mistaken. Or, for that matter, weren't playing some perverse prank.

"Boss!" One of his boys, a turian named Caeldonis, was hailing him on the radio. "Boss, you are not going to believe this!"

"Lay it on me, Cael," Artonis grumped. "What in the hell is going on up there?"

"It's Shepard!" Cael shouted, his voice so loud it distored the speaker in Artonis's earpiece. "Commander Shepard is alive!""

Artonis broke into a dead run. They had found Shepard, and the bastard was still alive. This was going to make the Council's day. They might call Artonis a hero. Give him a medal. Maybe a promotion up the meritocracy.

If he was lucky, this might even be his ticket out of the Corpse Corps.

Camp Anderson, by all accounts, was a hellish sort of place. Ragtag shelters had been set up for survivors of the Reaper invasion, most of which locayed in shelled-out storefronts and apartment buildings. London was a picture of hell on Earth...and yet, hope was abound.

The Reapers were gone. Some way, some how, humanity had managed to pull one final trick out of its hat and, with the united races of the galaxy, had found victory deep in the maw of defeat. In spite of the setting, things were on the long, slow track back to normal. Or, something similar to normal. Prefabs were being repaired and deployed to the makeshift Alliance command center in the middle of the camp. Power and even fresh water were available to military personnel, and within the week would be available for the entire camp. Ships were being repaired and restocked. The Crucible's engineers had even begun the process of repairing the heavily damaged Charon mass relay.

In the face of disaster, life struggled on. No, not struggled. Persevered.

Nothing better illustrated this than the broken body on board the screaming Alliance medical shuttle. By all rights, James Shepard should be dead. Massive couldn't appropriately describe the trauma he had suffered both from the Crucible's firing and the resulting explosions. Not to mention almost sixteen days had passed without food or drink. However, his Cerberus-supplied implants and cybernetics had picked up his organic slack and had helped him survive.

However, he was in rough shape. Blunt force trauma, internal hemorrhaging, several broken bones...and on top of that he had been put on a respirator.

The commander had a rough road ahead. However, he was a fighter.

Admiral Steven Hackett was waiting in the makeshift militay medical center when the medical corpsmen came rushing in with Shepard on a stretcher. Hackett fell in behind them, moving towards the emergency center.

"How is he?" he asked.

"Bad," one of the medics answered. "He's barely hanging on."

Hackett was aware the situation was dire, but he couldn't help but smile. _He's still hanging on,_ he thought. _ That's the important part_.

_**"GALACTIC HERO FOUND ALIVE IN CITADEL RUINS"**_

_**BY GEORGIA PRALL, ALLIANCE NEWS NETWORK**_

_**Camp Anderson, UK - **More than two weeks after the miraculous defeat of the Reapers, the man behind the greatest military campaign-and victory-in galactic history has been found alive aboard Citadel Station after previously classified as KIA._

_Staff Commander James Robert Shepard, commanding officer of the SSV Normandy was found early yesterday morning by a turian work crew at the base of the Citadel tower. Cmdr. Shepard's status is listed as critical and he is currently being treated by the 889th Alliance Medical Corps-Alliance Command at Camp Anderson. The extent of his injuries are currentl unknown._

_Alliance officials have requested that well-wishers do not attempt to enter the Command compound as no visitors will be allowed per Adm. Steven Hackett, Alliance Supreme Commander._

At first, Tali'Zorah vas Normamdy had secluded herself in her lover's cabin, refusing to leave. She had buried herself in his rack, clinging to an old N7 sweatshirt he had been fond of. She would remove her mask, bury her face in the garment, and cry. That was before she had been forced to confront her commander's mortality at the memorial wall. It was at that point she found a spark of hope long hidden. Maybe, _keelah_, he was still out there. Alive. Waiting for her. As the days passed afterward, she had begun to venture out. The crew had been hard at work patching the hull and repairing the drive core. That spark had ignited, and Tali decided to set her grief aside in favor of hope.

Over the next few days, Tali buried herself in the task of getting the Normandy's comm systems back up. Garrus joined her on most days, and while he was no quarian his tech skills were coming in handy. Despite the concerns (and quite often, vocal protests) of her shipmates, she was in the war room nearly 'round the clock allowing herself only a few hours for sleep each night. And even though it was a couple of sizes too big (and was drawing unwarranted amounts of attention from the humans on board) she had taken to wearing Shepard's old sweatshirt-in reality, a security blanket of sorts-as she worked each day. She didn't care. It was comforting. Familiar. It was a piece of her James, and it would help her get by.

Within a matter of days, her hard work had paid off.

Kaiden Alenko would often stand at the CIC and look out around him. He was a major-the highest ranking Alliance officer onboard-and was by rights the commanding odficer of the Normandy. Each time he would think of himself as such, a sick feeling would rise from the pit of his stomach. This was Shepard's ship, and Shepard's crew. He wouldn't allow himself to usurp that command, even if the commander was dead.

_And if you don't, you'll never see Earth again._

He had this argument with himself several times a day. He had taken to organizing the repair and salvage teams, and had done so quite well. Adams in Engineering was convinced the ship would be airborne in another week's time, and probably much sooner. The ship would need a captain, and soon.

_Shepard's ship Shepard's crew_

_He's dead it's up to you_

_Shepard's ship Shepard's crew_

Kaidan felt a migraine coming on, and he closed his eyes. This was going to be a bad one, when compared to previous experience. Yet another reason why he felt inadequate to command the Normandy. Goddamned headaches. Goddamned implants. Goddamned _Shepard_.

Kaidan rubbed his temples; what a fine mess he found himself in.

"Hey _jefe_, you okay?"

James Vega hobbled through the elevator door, heavily favoring a right leg that had met the business end of a brute during the battle for Earth. He grunted and groaned, finally leaning against Specialist Traynor's terminal.

"Didn't expect to see you up and moving so soon, Lieutenant," Kaidan said. "How's the leg?"

James rubbed the bandage wrapped around his wound. "Hurts like hell, but I couldn't stand hanging around the med bay. Doc turned her back, and I slipped out." He grimaced again as he shifted his weight. "Think I'll be paying for this one later, though. What about you, _jefe_? Another headache?"

"More than one, James," Kaidan said with a weak smile. "More than one."

James nodded. "I hear ya. Scuttlebutt is that we're close to getting this tin can back in the air."

"If we're fast and lucky, we're a week away," Kaidan confirmed. "Adams seems to think we may be closer than that."

"What about you?" James asked. "Will you be ready?"

Kaidan chuckled. "Good question."

James frowned. "I'm serious. Everything we've been through, we need a strong leader up here. That's the only way this works."

"Easy for you to say," Kaidan responded. "You're not the one everyone's looking to for answers."

James shook his head. "Good thing, too. Most of my answers involve large amounts of alcohol." Kaidan couldn't help but laugh, migraine or not. "Seriously, _jefe_? Has to be you. You know it, and so does everyone else on this boat. And you know that's what _he_ would want."

Kaidan nodded. The kid was right.

"Got some tequila under my bunk, in case you do need some answers," James chided. "But I'd better get back before the good doctor takes my good leg." James did his best to snap a salute before stumbling back to the elevator.

_Yeah_, Kaidan thought. _Guess that settles it._

Tali was a little surprised when she heard the telltale _ding_ that indicated the comunications relay had come back online. She had been certain that the problem had been more than a disconnected coupling, but she certainly wouldn't argue with the results. Of course, one way comunications were going to be worthless in this jungle, but it was still an improvement. Progress. It was one step closer to getting off this rock and getting back to Earth, and to James.

What she hadn't expected, however, was another ding, this time indicating there was a message waiting.

Curiosity overwhelmed the young machinist as she opened the terminal, input her credentials, and waited for the message screen to open up. She was pleased to see that the message had come from the Alliance. It was yet another sign that things were slowly and surely returning to normal. At the very least, the comm networks were coming back up.

Nothing could have prepared her for the message that awaited. She had to read through two, three...hell, four times before it really started to hit her.

Then, it did. She bounced on the balls of her feet as tears streamed down her face, hidden by the mask on her face. After copying the notice to her omni-tool, she dashed from the war room, through the security checkpoint (thankfully, still offline), and into the CIC Kaidan was excitedly staring at the commander's personal terminal as she ran up. Their eyes met, and it was obvious they both knew.

They both were out of breath and trying to talk over one another, before both finally stopped, laughed, and hugged.

Shepard was alive.


	2. A Delicate Balance

Chapter Two: A Delicate Balance

"I want to know exactly what the Alliance-what you-plan to do about this!"

Steven Hackett was, by no stretch of the imagination, a politician. However, the Reapers had seen fit to reduce Arcturus Station to cinders (along with entire Parliament), Udina had shown his true colors and had met a messy end at the hands of a pissed-off Spectre, and Ambassador Osoba was nowhere to be found. That left Admiral Hackett, fleet admiral and Commander in Chief of allied naval forces, at the top of the food chain.

Now, instead of doing something that actually mattered, he was stuck playing peacekeeper and politician. There was nothing more Admiral Hackett hated than politicians.

Especially the rambling moron standing in his office.

Hackett's eyes bored holes through Charles Saracino's forehead. Saracino was standing in front of the admiral's desk in the cramped pre-fab office, arms crossed and a glowering expression on his face.

"There are armed alien nationals roaming freely amongst our people!" Saracino shouted. "Maybe you trust the animals, but I..."

"...don't think you should finish that line of thought," Hackett growled. "The only reason you and I are having this discussion is because those 'animals' gave life and limb to defend our people. Our planet."

"And they're still here!" Saracino said. "We traded one occupier for another! Devouring our resources and stealing what little we have left! It's been six weeks, Admiral. How much longer can we keep this up?"

Saracino pulled up a window blind and pointed at a group of sign-wielding humans standing just outside the command post's security checkpoint.

"Look at them, Admiral! Those are your people, and they are fed up with the alien occupation! Stand up for humanity-for a change-and kick the offworlders off our planet!"

Hackett stood up and pointed at the open door. "The only thing I'm fed up with, Mr. Saracino, is your racist bull. Get the hell out of my office. Now."

Saracino's face turned as red as the suit jacket he was wearing. "You haven't heard the last from us, Admiral," he said with a shaking voice. "Terra Firma will not stand for this!"

"Out." The menace in the admiral's voice was as thick as a Pragian jungle. Saracino opened his mouth as if he had somehing further to add to the conversation, but with a huff he stormed out the door, his face a pleasing (at least, to Hackett) shade of purple.

Hackett unclenched his fists and dropped down into his chair. He picked up his datapad with a sigh, halfheartedly scrollimg through the latest updates from ANN. He was a warrior. He did have a diplomatic streak; after all, it came with the territory. But this? Leading the Alliance as it tried to rebuild after the most destructive military campaign in human history? This was way out of his wheelhouse.

He rubbed his temples. He was too old for this nonsense.

He turned his attention back to the datapad. Dr. Idana had sent him a message regarding the commander's recovery. He opened the note. A little good news regarding Shepard would brighten his spirits.

"Patient's physical injuries recovering at a phenominal rate. Believe implants are mostly reponsible. Off respirator. Still in coma. Touch and go, but promising. Have expert on hand assisting, familiar wih advanced implants."

"Promising," Hackett repeated. "Suppose that's better than nothing."

He quickly shot off a message to the STG operative that had been caring for the commander.

"Good news. May I visit?"

A few moments later, an "affirmative" message scrolled across his screen. Hackett smiled. At least he could cross one productive item off his agenda today.

* * *

The field hospital had been built from a converted general store in the early hours after the victory against the Reapers. Oddly, the building had seen little damaged although the surrounding neighborhood had seen some of the fiercest fighting in the assault of London. The Alliance Medical Corps and Civil Engineers had scrubbed the building, moved in as much medical equipment they could lay their hands on, and before too long it had became a functioning hospital.

Hackett was immensly proud of the efforts he had seen. The hospital served as more than a treatment center...it was a testament to the new galactic comunity that had been forged in the face of total extinction. Not to mention a testament to the center's most special patient.

James Shepard's face had healed quite rapidly in the week since Hackett had last seen him. Other than needing a shave, and some minor bruising under his right eye, he looked like normal. His left arm was in a cast, but if the doctor's message was true even that might be gone in the next few days.

Hackett pulled up a chair next to the Spectre's bed. "You've had a lot of people worried, Commander." He thought for a moment, before pulling something out of his pocket.

"I guess that's not exactly accurate any more," he said, placing two shoulder boards-Captain's bars-on the bedside table. "Under the Emergency War Powers Mandate of 2186, James R. Shepard is hereby awarded the rank of Captain in the Systems Alliance Naval Service, with all priviledges and responsibilities such title offers."

Hackett smiled. "Off the record, you'd be an admiral if it were completely up to me," he said. "I'm sure, though, there will be plenty of brass, gold, and recognition waiting for you once you wake up. Rumor has it the batarians even have a medal with your name on it. Who would've thought?" he said with a chuckle. "Your first assignment, Captain, is to heal. We need you, Shepard. We have a lot of work to do."

There was no response to the admiral, save for the electronic beeps of the monitors connected to Shepard's body.

"Get well, Shepard. That is an order."

* * *

**ALLIANCE NEWS NETWORK**

**Breaking News Bulletin**

**EXPLOSIVE TEMPERS OVER KROGAN CAMP BOMBING, URDNOT RETALIATION**

_CAMP ANDERSON, UK_ - _Yesterday's bombing of a krogan military encampment in the Alliance Command Center has led to the deaths of four krogan soldiers and has injured twelve others, including Chieftain Urdnot Wrex._

_The krogan swiftly retaliated against the suspected perpetrators, whose identities are not being disclosed but were all believed to be members of the Terra Firma party. The three suspects were gunned down as they ran from the scene. All were dead before rescue personnel arrived._

_This has inflamed the already tense relations between Alliance Command, the Council races represented on Earth, and the anthropocentric Terra Firma party._

_Terra Firma chairperson Charles Saracino is calling upon Alliance command to arrest and try the krogan involved in the shooting. "Alien forces have committed a miscarriage of justice in their rage, and they should pay for their crimes."_

_An assistant to Alliance Admiral Hackett would only say the matter was being investigated by base security and would comment on completion of that investigation._

* * *

"Four of my people are dead," Urdnot Wrex growled as he absentmindedly fiddled with the bandages covering the right side of his heavily-scarred face. Eighteen more are wounded. Badly. And this grimy little pyjak wants to pin the blame on us?"

Hackett sighed.

"Our people are, understandibly, upset with the fact that three humans were executed without any sort of trial or investigation," Hackett responded.

"We caught them with another bomb in their hands!" Wrex roared. "My men were defending themselves!"

"Gentlemen, please," Adrien Victus, turian primarch, interjected. "We're giving Terra Firma just what they wanted from this incident. We need to solve this issue amicably."

"Heh, you sound like Shepard," Wrex said, a smile crossing his reptilian face.

"If only I was," Victus replied.

The human admiral folded his arms across his chest, and stared at the two aliens sitting across the table from him. Considering their species's history, it surprised him that Wrex and Victus were able to sit in the same room. It surprised him even more that Hackett, in the past few weeks, ha learned to call them both friends. Plus, Victus was right. He wasn't going to let Saracino and his ilk ruin what so many people had given their lives to build.

"I'm more than willing to forgo any Alliance involvement in this investigation," Hackett said. "With your word, Wrex, that your soldiers will receive some formal reprimand for their actions. Even if I do agree with them."

The krogran grunted. He wasn't in favor of this agreement, but he was no fool. He knew his people had to keep the humans happy, at least until the Aralakh relay was restored and he could return home.

"No Alliance punishment?" Wrex asked.

"None," Hackett agreed, extending a hand to the krogan.

Wrex nodded, and shook the admiral's hand.

"With that...unpleasantness out of the way," Victus said, "what exactly are we going to do about Terra Firma?"

Hackett scowled. Terra Firma, while one of the second tier political organizations in the Alliance, had always had a constituency-in fact, the party even had a couple of seats locked up in Parliament. Some within the Alliance saw them as a political arm of Cerberus (Hackett shuddered at the mere thought of the Illusive Man and his shadowy spec ops group), but they had never been violent. Occasionally loud and annoying, especially during an election year, but never violent.

Something had apparantly changed that. But why? What had forced Saracino's hand?

"Let's ask him," Wrex growled. "Saracino. Call him in here. Get the Councilors in here...the asari, the salarian, and the rest of them. Grill 'em, and lay down the law. If he doesn't want to play ball, we shut it down."

"We have to approach this situation carefully," Hackett advised. "But this may be our best shot for now."

"And provide legitimacy for his organization?" Victus retorted. "I'm not so sure."

Hackett shook his head. "Wrex is right. Let's hear what he has to say, and go from there."

* * *

Kaiden sighed as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He wasn't a fan of warm climates, and this mystery world (which Traynor had been able to locate within the Krogan DMZ, once the communications systems had come back online) definitely was warm. And humid, without a doubt. Kaidan felt like he could swim through the atmosphere.

Regardless of climate, the Normandy's repairs were well ahead of schedule. Most of the vital systems were up, and the engineering crews had begun to patch the hull.

Tali appeared to be a quarian possessed, and a lifetime of salvaging, repairing, and maintaining ships in the flotilla was proving to be invaluable. She often kept working through shift changes, sleeping only a couple of hours each night.

Kaidan had watched her in awe at first, then became concerned. She was tired, and her health was rapidly declining as the days went by.

Finally, Kaidan decided it was time to intervene. He was working alongside Tali one day, performing a structural patch near the port side shuttle bay. She had been on a scaffolding, welding a brace into place when everything went dark. She slipped, and fell from the scaffold. If she hadn't the sense to tie herself off to the frame, it could've been disastrous.

On instinct, Kaidan released a biotic field and caught the young quarian, and pulled her back to the top.

"Oh, _keelah_," she whispered. "I am so sorry. Give me a moment, and I'll be ready to finish."

Kaiden shook his head. "I think you are due for a couple days off, Tali. You've been working circles around the rest of the crew."

"I have to, Kaidan," Tali protested. "I have to keep going. Or else..."

"No offense, Admiral," Kaidan said with a smile, "but I must insist. Commander Shepard wouldn't be pleased with me if something happened to you. So please...head up to the loft. I'll finish here."

"The loft?" Tali asked. "Your quarters?"

Kaidan shook his head. "Our CO is still alive, Tali. I'm just...standing in for a while. Besides, I've been bunking in the XO's quarters as of late."

"Oh," Tali said. Then, her stupor momentarily wore off and replaced with a ray of clarity. "Oh! You, and Liara..." She caught herself nervously twiddling her fingers, and smiled inside her helmet. James had always laughed when she did; he said it was cute.

"Yeah," he said, nervously rubbing the back of his head. "I suppose we are. "

"I'm happy for you," Tali sweetly said. "You both deserve a little happiness."

"And you, Admiral, deserve a good night's rest," Kaidan said, using the onboard mechanical lift to lower the scaffolding. "Come on, let's get you home." He hooked an arm underneath Tali's to support her weight, and carried her to the elevator.

* * *

Tali woke up in James's bed some twelve hours later. Her onboard medical VI alerted her to a slight fever. She was surprised, considsring how bad she had felt over the past few days. She brought up her omni tool, and ordered the VI to administer a general antibiotic.

With treatment complete, she sat up in the large bed. She hugged the N7 hoodie she wore tightly against her body. She missed James horribly.

She rose from the bed and glanced around the dimly-lit cabin. Some of the happiest times in her life had taken place in this room. Catching a glimpse of the battered, broken N7 helmet on Shepard's desk reminded her of the less enjoyable times around.

She found some of his "civvie" shirts in his nightstand. Another motion with her omni tool turned her air filters off. She picked up one of his shirts, held it to her mask, and inhaled. His scent flowed from the shirt and hit her nostrils like a drug. It was a clean scent, of what the humans called cologne. Flashes of James, and the first night they had spent together raced hot through her mind and sent a chill down her spine.

She neatly folded the shirt and placed it back in the drawer. James was a model soldier; everything had its place and it had damned well better be there.

She smiled as the models hanging near his personal terminal caught her eye. For such a feared warrior, he had such mundane hobbies. She wandered over to the area he called "the cubbyhole," and saw a couple of unfinished models resting on his workstation. She was tempted to assemble them (she was a quarian, after all) but decided against it. She would leave them for James.

She noticed a picture frame sitting next to the terminal. Intrigued, she picked it up and examined it.

Tears welled in her eyes as she saw the picture. It was another of her, sans enviro-suit, asleep in his bed, a smile of peace and content on her face.

_He must have taken this before the assault on the Cerberus station_, she thought.

She realized that she had no pictures of him, save for the stock service photo she had found years ago. This couldn't dampen her spirits, though. James was alive, and he was waiting for her.

_I'll be there soon, my love_, she thought, clutching the sweater tightly to her suit once more. _Just hold on for me._

* * *

A crowd of medical personnel crowded around Shepard's bed as an emergency alarm echoed through the room.

"Nurse, bring the crash cart!" Shepard's salarian physician ordered as he injected a stimulant into Shepard's IV. "He's going into cardiac arrest!"

"Fibrulator, doctor?" another nurse asked.

The doctor shook his head. "Implants," he said. "Unknown effect if stimulated with electricity. Administering polyrhenol to stop heart, follow with an amphetamine to stimulate. Find Dr. Lawson, she is familiar with project."

The nurse nodded, and hurried out of the room. The doctor glanced at his omni tool, noting the chemical had stopped Shepard's heart. He prayed to any god that would listen as he pushed the second medication through the IV, as a dead, dull tone registered from the heart monitor.

"You've been through too much to die now, Captain Shepard," Maelon Idana whispered in Shepard's ear. "We need you to come back, please."


End file.
